Okay, it’s been a few weeks and if I don’t tell someone I’m just going to die. Before we got back home from, what ended up being extended, holiday I had a brief affair. Well I suppose that affair would not be the right word. Maybe encounter would be better. I’m not too sure that everyone would consider it to be sex either. I know when Bill Clinton was the President of America it seemed like he did not consider oral sex and other sex to be the same.

Funny I should say that. David Cameron has just moved to Number 10 Downing Street today. He seems young to me as Bill Clinton was when the Americans elected him. Will he have his own girl? Who knows? I have to admit that it makes me smile a bit because Bill Clinton chose a big girl like me to play with. Imagine, the President of America and he was a chubby chaser.

Well at least that thought made me laugh a bit. Yes I am what they call a BBW. I am tall, and for most of my life no one considered me big around the middle, but age and children tend to change things. My thighs got nice and chunky after Warren and my bottom widened out, and my boobies and tummy never returned to normal after Grace, going from near flat chested to melons almost overnight in the third trimester. More men started to pay attention as I passed them on the street, the ones who like their women big. Rory, my husband, well, I became not really his type quite suddenly.

Sorry, I stopped a minute for a little cry. Rory’s been having an affair with Jenny, who works down at his favorite pub. It’s been going on for some six years now, but he thinks I do not know. I don’t understand why it makes me fell guilty for what I did. Maybe it’s because I still love him as much as always, even though he does not love me back the same.

I suppose I should just tell what happened. Maybe someone else will know if it was right, or wrong, or even if it’s considered sex by people other than Bill Clinton.

It was Tuesday, 20 April, 2010, depending on your point of view. It was in the wee hours of the morning so some would say it was actually Wednesday, but it was that actual day when things got started. After over a week of extended vacation the flights back home were finally cleared. The only problem was that there were so many people waiting to go that I already knew we were going to be stuck for several more days before I even bothered to ring up the airline. Luckily the people who were waiting to replace us at the vacation resort were just as stuck as we were back home, so at least we did not have to find other lodging. The main problem was money was running tight, so that morning I did my best to budget us on food and petrol for a few more days. I told the children they would have to be content with the pool at the resort.

I suppose I should say that we went to Florida and stayed in a vacation resort that caters to several people on holiday from the U.K. in a place called Davenport. The drive to Disney World is short from there, and the rates are reasonable because it is just far enough away from all the theme parks it is not considered a tourist area. We actually discussed staying there again, and Rory and Lulu, his mother, checked into a vacation home so we could do it all the time, but I am unsure if it would be wise for various reasons.

Anyway, it was the two of us and the kids, Lulu, and Will and Helen, my brother and sister-in-law. During the stay we went to the Disney parks almost every day, and we even spent a couple of days at the Typhoon Lagoon water park, and I have to say I could spend all day riding around on a float in the river area, but there is a waterfall that is freezing cold along the way. Warren and Grace were having the time of their lives. Lulu was in her element, doing all those fun things she imagined being able to do on family holiday and being important as Gran for being there. Will and Helen acted like a couple of kids on a second honeymoon. Rory-.

Well he was just there.

I think he missed Jenny.

Which, other than those occasions I was needed as a mother, like having a splash in the wave pool at the water park, or doctoring Grace’s knee when she slipped because she had seen Princess Jasmine and went running without looking, or riding through the haunted house with Warren several times each visit because no one else wanted to, left me pretty much alone and lonely.

God, I’m laughing. That has to be the longest sentence in history.

Okay, I was alone and lonely, especially in the evenings.

It was the day before we were supposed to have left that that damn volcano in Iceland erupted. I am not sure now if I should damn it or not. If it had not then life would be the same as always, and I wouldn’t be writing about this event that makes me guilty to the point I wonder if I should just slit my wrists and be done with everything one moment, and the next it makes me so hot that I have to lock myself away and rub my quim as I relive it until having a glorious sweat dripping and face flushing orgasm.

Smiling to myself, feeling that burn in my cheeks from looking back over that. There is also the candlestick on the bathroom window sill. That has been for those moments when I imagine it was more than what it was. I have always been too shy to go and buy a toy, even on the internet I can’t bring myself to do it, so I have the candle for those moments I want to be filled.

I wonder if Rory took any notice to the fact that there was also a candle stick on the window sill of the bathroom at the resort? But then why would he. He’s never questioned the candle in our own bathroom even once.

Okay, so I guess you can summarize that even though we were on holiday there was nothing going on between us. Sex has been minimal since Grace was born, and then it went to even less three years later when he started keeping his little pub tart mistress, and it had been about three months before our trip that we had had sex of any kind, so it was almost four months. I think it fueled the sense of loneliness and dejection. I mean I am his wife and it still should have been my time and not hers, because they were apart, an ocean between them. So I suppose he wanked his own self off thinking of her, and so I did what I needed to do to feel like a woman.

Crying again. God damn it I feel so stupid. I still imagine making love to Rory when I play with myself, imagining it is him and we’re in our warm bed, and not alone and squatting on the toilet and fucking myself with an old candle like a pathetic looser.

But now I smile. That has changed some since what happened. I don’t just fantasize about getting fucked by my husband anymore.

Here’s how it started off. It was late and I was lonely. The children were watching a re-airing of the new Doctor Who beginning over with Matt Smith on the BBC America channel. Rory and Lulu were sitting outside having a nice mother and son chat as they like to have. And Will in Helen were in their bedroom, of course probably Will doing to Helen at that moment what I wanted his brother to do to me. So I decided that I would go to the Superior HyperMart store that is about four kilometers or so from the resort to go ahead and supply up for the next few days since it is open round the clock and I really wanted to get out. Lulu offered to accompany me, but I told her I would be fine.

It was actually a little cool that night, and I knew the store would be even colder so I dressed for the occasion. I was wearing a pair of black stirrup pants. Yes I know you’re probably thinking someone still makes those. Yes and no I think. To me they’re the most comfortable thing because squeezing into denim is a killer and I am never comfortable in skirts or dresses, so I find every pair in my size I can on eBay and a couple of other auction sites and buy them.

I also had on a long sleeved knit top that has a hood, and the sleeves bell out and open up at the wrists. It is cream and gray striped, and probably not the best choice since horizontal bands make us big girls look even bigger, and it is kind of baggy on me, but I can’t help it, it’s comfortable and I like it.

Other than a bra and panties I wore a pair of orange Crocs. Lulu, Helen and myself each bought a pair as soon as we saw them in the store at the Orlando Airport. Lulu picked up a pair for Grace and Warren as well, but she complained they made her feet hurt and he absolutely refused to wear them.

Anyway, I guess my point is I was probably about as un-sexy looking as I could be. After all I was going to just get out and shop. Not even in the back of my mind had I planned on what happened happening.

The HyperMart store was dead. I have to tell you that the inside is huge, pretty much as large as a warehouse. Other than some light music playing overhead it seemed very quiet. I noticed a man and woman at the cash registers, but I could not see any other workers or shoppers, so it was almost as if I had the whole place to myself. I grabbed a trolley and then headed to the opposite side of the seemingly empty store.

That illusion did not last very long though. I went to the middle of the grocery section of the store to get some tinned tomatoes and peaches and a bottle of squash, and there I saw him. I had seen him on several of our visits to the HyperMart store. He was average in height, which made him maybe a head shorter than me, and he had dark skin, but not quite as dark as most of the Spanish or Arab and Indian people we had seen since we had arrived in the States. Of course he had this coal black hair that seemed to go with his colour and dark brown eyes. He had high cheek bones, and that made him look more exotic than most, and I think maybe he was part Red Indian or Native American as I think they call themselves now. It said JOSEPH on his name badge, the only way I know his name.

Okay, so I thought he was hot. He was not a film stud or muscle man, but there was something about him, maybe because he was this ethnic looking foreigner who looked a lot more exotic because I could not place where he might have come from. He was on his knees with an electronic scanner, taking tins off the shelf and scanning them until his bulky handheld beeped. He would pause to look at the screen of the scanner, and then repeat the process with a tin of something else.

“Hello,” I said as I passed him. I am unsure of why as I had not said a word to him any of the other times I had been to the store, and I was sure he was probably of the opinion that I was just another stuck up foreign tourist. Maybe it was in the back of my mind that something like what happened was going to happen after all. He had become one of those people you look forward to seeing, you know, people in shops that are always there though most of them you never bother to meet. Despite the near three week stay he was already a fixture of the HyperMart store.

I know my face turned red and I wanted to giggle. I know that he had been checking me out on those other visits to supply up. Rory had even made the comment that he had though he had looked our way a little too long one day as I squatted down to read the label of a box of some American brand of Sugar Puffs.

“Well, hello yourself,” he replied, glancing up from his work.

I felt a flutter in my heart, and a slight feeling in my back as if I were being rubbed up and down lightly by invisible hands. I instantly found I was regretting not greeting him until then. His accent was as exotic as everything else about him. It sounded American and yet different. It was nothing I could place right off.

“What’s that you’re doing then?,” I found myself asking, slowing my pace and coming to a stop. One of the front wheels of the still empty trolley span around a couple of times.

“This? Item verification,” he said, something about that voice so dreamy. “I check the scanning price against the price on the shelf label.”

I cut my eyes up and down the aisle. It had to be a mundane job, and I had the feeling that this was something he would have to do throughout that huge store. By the same token I found it interesting at the same time.

“Stuck here?,” he asked.

I shook my head, it was swimming some and I almost missed that he had said anything. He was wearing a white oxford with a tie and black trousers. Over this he wore a green apron with his name badge over his left breast. He looked sexy, even in work clothes. His eyes looked me up and down, but only from just above the knees to below the neck. I really realized that he was at the very least half my age. He was maybe 22 or 23 at the most. And seeing his brown eyes travel up and down my body, not quite to the floor and again not quite to the face, made me very aware that he was indeed checking me out.

I had an instant where I though, he is looking at my tits, and almost instantly I could feel my nipples perking up and getting hard. And then when his eyes got lower I wondered if he was maybe wondering what I looked like in that lower middle around the Mons, and I felt a sudden tingle and growing moisture in my quim as I broke into a sudden and heavy sweat beneath my armpits.

“Yeah,” I said. I sounded a little dumb, like when Catherine Tate does Lauren Cooper. “We were supposed to leave the day after the volcano erupted.”

I tried to keep a straight face. I was wondering what he would look like as he erupted on the one hand. On the other I was trying not to laugh at my own thoughts because I had that damn Lauren Cooper voice in my head saying things like, Do I look like a trapped tourist? Do I look like a trapped British tourist? Do I, look like, some British tourist, trapped by some volcano? Iceland! Volcano! British tourist!

ALL-rrriiiiggghhhtt.

“Miss?”

His voice snapped me out of the little trance caused by sudden horniness and stupid musing. I know I opened my mouth a little wide, and probably had some goofy smile framing it. I shook my head, again trying to get out of my little daze. “Sorry,” I said. Then I did giggle, and as I did I was well aware of my breasts doing a little jiggle. “Kind of lost myself there.”

Joseph sighed and nodded. “I do that all the time myself, especially when I’m on the graveyard shift. Like tonight. But you know, no worries.”

When he said the last two words, no worries, I think he did his best to affect a British accent, but it came out a little more Australian. I couldn’t help but laugh because it was cute, and his own strange accent still bleed through some. I was aware that my breasts were again quaking, and even though he was trying to make it look as if he wasn’t I could tell he was looking dead at them. I wondered if he was trying to guess how I would look topless, and I was wondering what it would feel like to have his mouth on one of my nipples. “Yeah.”

I took a breath and closed my eyes, trying to keep my thoughts straight. Logic told me this would be it. The whole trip and a little flirting with a stranger was going to be the closest thing to sex I would have. People didn’t just hook up and do those kind of things. Well, at least no one I knew ever had. I know several years back people would use little things on their mobiles to send pics and messages to other people in their general area and if someone liked what the saw they would answer back and then they would hook up just like that.